In most sports different roles, tasks or skills suit a range of physical types or appeal to particular personalities or talents. Officiating – refereeing, umpiring or judging – is a specialist role that suits some and fills others with dread.
On the staff at Naenae College I became involved in cricket as manager, coach and player. The college’s 1st XI played in an open men’s grade in the Hutt Valley, so I was able to play as a member of the team. I completed my formal New Zealand Cricket (NZC) coaching qualifications. And, like all the other players, I took a turn at umpiring regularly.
Through my links with the Naenae Old Boys Cricket Club I met Steve Woodward occasionally at the clubrooms. Steve was, at this time, the top-ranked umpire in the country with considerable test match experience. Our conversations sparked my interest in this aspect of the sport; here was a pathway that could well suit me. I was pleased when, a decade later, Steve was appointed with me to my first first-class match.
My shift to Auckland at the beginning of 1982 provided the opportunity to join the Auckland Umpires Association, and on 30 January 1982 I umpired my first official match at University Oval.
On the verge of turning 30 I still harboured sporting ambitions. I had been drawn to cricket at an early age, but had been at best a very mediocre player. I was once told that I “couldn’t bat an eyelid”! I certainly envied those who made the game look easy. And I was at that age still keen to stay close to the sport and its players.
I was confident from the outset that I had the physical fitness and the mental strength to stand for eight hours per day and stay focussed on the task. A sufficiently judicial mind would help to master the laws of the game and their application. And I believed that, thanks to my professional career, I had the people management skills to be able to manage players under pressure. Given a smidgeon of common sense and an even temper I thought I had some helpful basic skills.
I also knew that I would have to make up for my deficiencies, principally that of not having played the game at a high level. This would require putting time into developing my skills and seeking out good quality feedback.
There is ample opportunity in cricket to “do the time”. Lord Mancroft famously defined the sport as “a game which the English, not being a very spiritual people, have invented in order to give themselves some conception of eternity.” Commit to cricket and expect never to have a weekend for any other purpose. However, from an umpiring perspective, gaining experience of decision-making is a slow process, because the important decisions generally do not happen frequently. In my first full season I stood on 22 days, and in my second 21.
Worthwhile feedback on umpiring performance is highly problematic. Television is the best means available now, but the technology is a recent development and only available to those at the highest levels of the game. Thirty years ago umpires were reliant on players for feedback; players, however, often have a different perspective depending on where they were positioned at the moment of action, they do not always have objectivity, and many regard it as a sign of weakness to be exploited if an umpire discusses his decisions with them. I found that the professional players from England employed by Auckland clubs at that time viewed feedback to umpires as a legitimate part of their role and were happy to discuss a game at the end of the day. Chris Broad, later a test opening batsman for England, and Richard Illingworth, later a test cricketer and test umpire, were willing to share their experience and help a learner.
Bill Fowler’s Ellerslie team played an important role in helping me to improve my performance. Under Bill’s captaincy this team was among the best in the city. We shared some stimulating hours after the close of play discussing the game and the umpire’s role over a beer. They were honest and objective, and disagreed as much with one another as they did with me! And they always had a laugh, for they had a great sense of humour and loved their time on the field. On one occasion, a warm and slow afternoon in the field, a loud sneeze issued from one of their fielders, a pre-arranged signal, whereupon all eleven of them pulled a handkerchief from their pocket, each of a different colour, and melodramatically blew their noses in unison. The opposition batsmen, as perplexed as curious, felt compelled to ask the question: “What’s this all about?” And the reply was immediate and also in unison: “Just bringing some colour into the game!”
While there were moments of good humour and fun, mine was not an altogether easy apprenticeship. Umpires are inevitability put under pressure at times, decisions are intensely scrutinised, and criticism is part of the job. Like many others, no doubt, I have spent Saturday evenings contemplating other things I might do with my weekends. But determination kept me in the game.
In 1867 The Cricketer’s Companion advised its readers: “Do not ask the umpire unless you think the batsman is out; it is not cricket to keep asking the umpire questions.” This piece of advice has long since gone out of fashion, but does remind me of a curious day of club cricket at Lloyd Elsmore Park. My fellow umpire failed to appear, whereupon the home captain, Nigel Scott, at the time the Auckland wicketkeeper, asked me to stand as the bowler’s end umpire at both ends. This is not uncommon, but makes for a tiring 100 overs in a day. In jest, I agreed, with the proviso that the players only appealed when the batsman was out. They decided that they were up to this challenge: after a few loud then stifled appeals they managed to change their ingrained habit. How amusing it became to see the wicketkeeper, slip fielders, and bowler quickly consult before putting the question “How’s that?” quietly and politely. But perhaps most amusing of all about the day’s cricket was that players and umpire agreed on every decision in the game!
Perhaps NZC got to hear about this innovative trouble-free method of officiating because I was appointed to the national B panel for the 1988/89 season.
Cricket is a sport that attracts some very capable people. David Morgan, who was an airline pilot at the time, and is now Air New Zealand’s Chief Pilot, was also on that national panel for a season. We officiated a match between Auckland and Central Districts B teams at Cornwall Park, the first day of which was rained out. Bill Fowler, he of the Ellerslie club and the Auckland captain, believed that no time should be wasted, and that off-field time should also be self-improving. The Auckland team did not play cards; they played Trivial Pursuits. After the top four players in the team had been identified, they challenged the umpires to a game. David and I accepted and, as the sporting cliché has it, “came away with the result”. After this humiliation the Trivial Pursuits box was put away and other pursuits found! Sadly, David’s career in aviation would prevent him from umpiring further; he would have become an outstanding umpire.
A range of different experiences presented themselves about this time. I umpired in Wellington in 1989 when I was teaching at Victoria University: the change of surroundings was stimulating, and I especially enjoyed being back at Naenae Park among some players I had coached when they were at school. I was appointed to a women’s test match against Australia, and a Youth test between New Zealand and England. In 1990 I was sent to Invercargill to stand in a Hawke Cup challenge match between the holders Southland and Horowhenua at Queen’s Park.
I have met many characters on a cricket field, among whom Dave Hadfield who played in this match stands out. Dave was an off-spin bowler for Horowhenua, he would later become a sports psychologist, lecture at Massey University, and act as an adviser to the New Zealand cricket team. As Kevin Burns batted for over a day in making 163, Dave bowled 37 overs from my end and fielded alongside me at square leg for just as many: he was a great talker and so began a 75 over long conversation in the course of which we learned that both of us had lived in France. He had worked in a tannery and spoke a working-class form of the language. In the middle of a long spell on a soporific afternoon, he hit Burns on the pad, appealed raucously for an lbw in something resembling French. I managed a stentorian reply in some French version of “Not out”, at which point we both fell about laughing. The other thirteen people on the field looked around, nonplussed, uncomprehending. I met Dave again on several later occasions, each time he retold the story, and it became increasingly ridiculous.
I knew that this match was a sort of trial for the first-class panel; I must have turned in a good performance, despite Dave’s antics, as I was appointed to the A panel for the 1990/91 season. Shortly after New Year I stepped on to Eden Park with Steve Woodward as my colleague for my first first-class match, Auckland v Canterbury. I had to wait until the second session for my first dismissal – a straightforward catch to the wicketkeeper. I was underway.
I was very well looked after in my first season. In my second match I stood with good friend Doug Cowie. Doug and I had both started umpiring in 1982; I stood in more matches with Doug than any other individual umpire. Doug is a quietly spoken and gentle man, as well as being an outstanding umpire. His 22 tests and 71 ODIs attest to his ability. I always valued Doug’s perspective on umpiring and learned a lot from him. While we were learning the ropes together, we also developed our palates; we have done a lot of wine tasting over the decades, taking part in many a wine option competition to while away some wet winter afternoons.
The Auckland Cricket Association has an annual umpire exchange with the Victoria Cricket Association in Australia. I was chosen to take part in this programme in 1993. The exchange involved two weekends of club cricket in Melbourne and a five day tournament known as Country Week in between. Alison came with me for the first weekend on which her fortieth birthday fell. The first Saturday was unfortunately rained out; the second weekend I umpired a one-day game between the Melbourne and Ringwood teams with Steve Walpole at Albert Oval, in the park used as the course for the F1 Australian Grand Prix. Steve was also a first-class umpire: he had stood in about the same number of Sheffield Shield games as I had Shell matches here. He proved to be a relaxed and friendly colleague whose company I enjoyed, and an admirable host. We had a dinner party that evening with a number of local umpires and he hosted me on the first day of a Sheffield Shield match involving Tasmania at the Melbourne Cricket Ground (MCG) the next day.
As a teenager I had read all Neville Cardus’s books about cricket. Cardus was the Manchester Guardian’s cricket writer and music critic for decades. Australian Summer, his account of the 1936/37 Ashes series, was a book that I almost knew by heart. This series was played at a time when pitches were never covered and is famous for the rain-affected pitches – sticky wickets – that occurred throughout the five test series. In the first two tests Australia had had to bat on sticky wickets, made 58 in the first, 80 in the second, and lost both matches. The third test was played at New Year 1937 in the great amphitheatre that was and still is the MCG. Australia batted on the first day, it rained overnight heavily, and Bradman declared the innings closed the next morning at 200. England then batted on what Cardus called “the gluepot” and declared at 76 for 9. Bradman then reversed his batting order while the pitch dried out. The usual bottom order players batted until five wickets had fallen, by which time the pitch had become “a rich couch stuffed with runs” (Cardus again), Bradman made 270, Fingleton 136, and Australia won by 365 runs. Bradman followed up with 212 in the fourth test, 169 in the fifth, and Australia won the series 3-2. It was a pleasure to find mementos of this series in the cricket museum at the MCG.
My first game in the Country Week tournament took place on the historic South Melbourne ground after a night’s rain during which the pitch was not covered. In the morning the sun was hot and the humidity high: the weather had laid on a traditional Melbourne sticky wicket just for me. The ball spun sharply and popped off a good length. A couple of spin bowlers did well, the two teams made very small totals, and I had a Victorian Bitter in my hand before 3 pm, perhaps the only person at the ground that day delighted with the pitch!
I had been well briefed on what to expect in Melbourne by John Crocker who had been the exchangee the previous season. John and I first stood together in 1991 in club cricket and developed a friendship which still continues thirty years on. We first stood together in first-class cricket at Eden Park two years later. I always felt secure when John was standing at the other end, and we got along well off the field as well. He and I often discussed the concept of partnership between umpires: working together to collaborate in decision-making is not easy when each umpire is essentially a solitary figure on the field, yet some umpires in the history of the game are best known as one of a pair. We developed a good working relationship, which proved effective in strong winds in Wellington in 1994, when four ears were definitely better than two. Sadly, we were appointed together to just three A panel games, but made up for that through our wine options team. John had, and still has, a very discriminating palate.
At the national level umpires relate very well to and support one another; umpiring, on the other hand, takes place within a political environment. The decade of the 90s was a period of turmoil within NZC, particularly as between the administration and the players. The organisation was rent by power struggles, patch protection, and conflicts of interest. Successive boards failed to provide strong organisational leadership; the management of the body was understaffed, amateurish in its thinking, and often ineffective. Umpiring was one of their afterthoughts. At the same time this era was one of increasing professionalisation of the players, who through their associations and involvement with NZC increased their control greatly, to the point where elite players exercised considerable power. Glen Turner, who was the coach of the international side in 1996 and then dismissed after a fractious tour of the West Indies, has written: “Nowadays players are being presented on a platter all the comforts, pampering, and pastoral care given to a juvenile emperor.”
Umpiring was an operational area in which, mainly through an assessment system, power lay in the hands of senior players. The NZC designed umpire assessment tool had two conflicting purposes: to provide feedback to umpires on their performance and to rank umpires for the purposes of promotion. The system was built on the reports written by both captains individually on both umpires after every match. Inevitably, these reports focussed on perceived mistakes, which rendered the feedback negative and demotivating. The ranking of umpires was based on a crude number system that was completely without validity. At the end of the season the numbers were totted up and umpire rankings determined by the provincial captains at a review meeting with NZC. The players were, in effect, selecting umpires and controlling their advancement or otherwise. I expressed a critique of this system on several occasions, for I believed that this system created a power imbalance which weakened umpiring in this country.
The sport at national level was nevertheless, in spite of its internal problems, undergoing development that I became involved with. In 1993 Shell Trophy matches were extended from three to four days and I stood with Steve Dunne in the first round of the longer format. In 1994 New Zealand cricket celebrated its centenary; five international teams visited this country. The Sri Lankans were a strong side at this time and a very pleasant group of players to be involved with. Doug and I stood in the first day/night Shell Cup match under the lights in Napier. Max Cricket, a forerunner of T20, was introduced by Martin Crowe aimed at a television audience. And television cameras are introduced to aid decision-making at international level: I was the third umpire in three ODIs.
I have never sought awards, but like most people find recognition from peers affirming. In April 1997 I was pleasantly surprised to receive the Auckland Umpire of the Year award. In October of that year I started my eighth season on the national panel. First-class cricket occupied 38 days and I stood on just over 50 days in the season. Most of my first-class appointments were outside of Auckland, so I ended up travelling extensively to centres between Hamilton and Christchurch, where I was pleased to partner the South African exchange umpire. I felt confident, relaxed and I finished the season pleased with my performance. I was still enjoying my involvement in the sport. At the same time I was aware that Alison was carrying the burden of working full-time as well as looking after three children between the ages of six and nine while I was away. Furthermore, I did not teach for most of February and March; umpiring was impinging on my responsibility to my students.
At the end of that 1997/98 season NZC informed me that I would not be reappointed to the national panel for the following season. No specific reason was given: some vague and embarrassed reference was made to performance without clear justification. I was disappointed, but also knew well that, in a political environment, all panel members were subject to the selection processes of promotion and demotion.
At that time a number of my panel colleagues were keen to become professional umpires, following a national into an international pathway. For a small number at the top of the tree, umpiring defined their lives and they could make a living from the sport. My attitude was different: education was my vocation and I was strongly committed to my career. My involvement in sport had always been a joy, umpiring a great pleasure, but it had always been a leisure time activity. I was, in effect, an “amateur” and happy to remain so. I would be able to carry on my life happily without umpiring, especially as it had begun to impinge on my professional and family life. I resigned from umpiring at all levels.
The next stage of my sporting life would be coaching and supporting my children and their teams, and sharing their pastimes with them. I would spend the next decade coaching their cricket teams and being involved in their interests. My sports activities would widen too: cricket of course, but also football, cycling, and tramping.
Statistics
National one-day games (Shell Cup): 32
National three and four day games (Shell Trophy): 32
Women’s test: 1
Women’s ODI: 1
Youth tests: 2
International ODIs third umpire: 3
